


Sobriety

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, References to Croatoan/Endverse, Season 13 Castiel/Dean Winchester Reunion, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: The Castiel that Dean had fought desperately to save is the Castiel that he has loved since their souls touched, but the Castiel that Dean thinks about frequently is the Castiel he stopped from existing.





	Sobriety

Dean thinks about the Castiel that almost was. The Castiel in 2014 that organized orgies, had an opioid addiction, and looked so… _free_. He thinks about how that Castiel had seemed so delighted to see Dean - not _2014_ Dean, but the Dean that had been thrown rather rudely into the future. That Castiel’s eyes had held that same familiar regard, the same comforting weight, but the pupils had been dilated and his skin more crinkled than normal, face tan and stubble grown into a beard. Dean thinks a lot about how that Castiel had offered Dean a cacophony of drugs and liquor to help abate nerves about storming Lucifer’s compound - and in watching that Castiel knock back a few pills dry Dean thinks about how he suddenly never wanted to touch another intoxicating substance again in his life, because surely that Castiel - 2014 Castiel - could be the only drug Dean takes for the rest of his life. 

The Castiel that Dean had fought desperately to save is the Castiel that he has loved since their souls touched, but the Castiel that Dean thinks about frequently is the Castiel he stopped from existing.

He wonders if this Castiel ( _his_ Castiel) is capable of those free smiles, that open laughter.  
He wonders if this Castiel ( _his_ Castiel) is capable of looking at Dean ( _this_ Dean) in that manner. 

Presently, Dean wipes his hands over his face and stares at the beautiful crystal bottle resting on the map table. Its contents are a bottle of Jack that he’d upended into it in an attempt to feel a little classier - and besides, pretty crystal like this is meant to be used, right? - but he has no desire to drink it. 

The mark throbs. 

Dean rests a palm over it, feeling its angry vibrations deep in his bones. 

He hasn’t had a drop in a week.

The realization of his impending end has Dean agitated, angry, irritable. More than usual. He’s given up trying to find a cure. Sam won’t stop until his eyes fall out of his head. Castiel…

Castiel.

Dean thinks about 2014 Castiel. He thinks about how that was the first time he considered never getting inebriated again. He thinks about how he should have taken the pills, taken that Castiel, and saved him. 

The gunshots and the screams and the obvious _trap_ that 2014 Dean had lead them into still bothers him to this day. 

Seeing himself like that kept the neck of the bottle firmly in his grasp.  
Seeing himself like that kept his finger on the trigger.

The mark stings. 

Dean digs his fingers into the meat of his forearm, blunt nails digging into the skin around the mark to try and distract from the heat of it. 

Days like today it’s hard to drink .  
Days like today it’s hard to stay sober.  
Days like today Dean wonders…  
Days like today 2014 Castiel’s outlook on life doesn’t seem so bad.  
Days like today Dean is reminded that 2014 Castiel doesn’t exist.

He had told Castiel ( _his_ Castiel) to never change. Clapped him on the shoulder, gave him a fond smile that he knows (he _knows_ ) revealed much more than he’s ever been comfortable with, and told him to not change a damn thing. Told him to never go down that path. 

Told him he loves him as is.

Dean thinks about 2014 Castiel’s smile. Open. Genuine. Beautiful. 2014 Castiel had taken Dean’s breath away and Dean’s afraid that he never got it back.

He’s days away from the mark taking over him. 

He’s days away from never having to think about this again.

He drinks.

\--

Lucifer kills Castiel.

A part of Dean dies.

He prays for the first time in years. For the first time since--

He stares at the angel’s body, covered with the nicest sheet he could find. The second nicest is covering Kelly Kline’s body.

Dean pulls out the chair at the head of the table. Sits down in it, feels his eyes stinging. Wishes he had a bottle. 

Wishes he had the strength to lift his gun.

His fingers fidget with the edge of the sheet. He’s taken it off and replaced it so many times, his wrist is starting to hurt. Castiel’s hair still ruffles every time. 

Castiel is still dead every time.

Dean thinks about the Castiel that he had saved. 

He thinks about the Castiel that he had stopped from existing. 

Dean thinks about how many times Castiel has died since then, he thinks about how every time Castiel had died, in one way or another, had died _for him_.

Dean keeps pills in his duffel bag. The same kind that 2014 Castiel had offered him. The same kind that he had refused. 

He hasn’t taken a single one.

He moves the sheet again. Reveals Castiel’s face and stares down at it like suddenly the angel will blink his eyes open, furrow his brow up at Dean, tilt his head, and ask why he’s looking at him so intently. 

Dean lets out a slightly delirious laugh and puts a hand over his eyes. His skin gets damp. 

He replaces the sheet. 

He stands up and paces around the side of the table. Laid out like this, covered up, Castiel seems small. 

And he’s not small- Dean knows Castiel is _not_ small. Not weak. Not feeble. 

Dean thinks about the pills in his duffel. 

He opens the curtains. Then closes them when he realizes that the sun doesn’t deserve to touch Castiel. 

Castiel was his sun. 

Dean moves the sheet. His fingers trace over Castiel’s cold brow, wishing it would twitch, move, frown. His fingers trace a half moon from Castiel’s temple down to the corner of his mouth and Dean thinks about how he never kissed those lips. 

2014 Castiel laughs in the back of his mind. 

He replaces the sheet.

They burn his body.

Dean feels more numb than any drug could ever make him.

\--

When Castiel returns, color does, too.

Dean no longer sees in shades of grey.

He’s no longer numb.

When they’re alone he pulls Castiel in for a frantic kiss, one sloppy with need and sadness and regret and despair and Castiel returns it with the same emotions, tenfold. Shaky fingers, stuttering breath, wet eyelashes, they stumble into Dean’s bedroom and slam the door, uncaring how it echoes around the bunker. 

Dean lets out a sob.

Castiel brackets him with strength, warmth, sobriety. 

Castiel fucks any thought of 2014 Castiel right out of Dean’s head. 

Dean’s apology turns to ash on his tongue. 

Castiel whispers his own.

This is the Castiel Dean had done his best to save.

This Castiel is his. Not the other one.

This Castiel is _his_.

This Castiel he won’t let go. 

This Castiel is the best drug.

\--

Castiel loses Dean to Michael.

He looks at the crystal bottle filled with Jack.

Thinks about the pills Dean had hidden in the bottom of his sock drawer and had forgotten about.

He wonders...

He wonders.

**Author's Note:**

> is 7am too early to write shit like this  
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) to tell me that yes, 7am is definitely too early to write this shit


End file.
